


" Be Candid, Sir "

by NotIshimaru



Category: 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: Historical References, I have fun writing james, Letters, M/M, Mentioned James Monroe, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Some Humor, its ok I love you even if ur ugly james
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 07:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotIshimaru/pseuds/NotIshimaru
Summary: Thomas Jefferson receives a concerning letter from James Madison. He waits to see his partner again, but struggles to recognize him due to the many changes that had gone on during his time in Paris.How candid should he really be?
Relationships: Thomas Jefferson/James Madison
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	" Be Candid, Sir "

Monticello: December 27th, 1789

I glazed my grey eyes over the last few sentences of my friend's letter. My friend, James Madison, who I had not seen in five long years. My most affectionate friend, of whom I confide so deeply to, even when our only contact had been letters. I rubbed a pale thumb along the parchment, toward the end of the cut, feeling the ever-so slight divots that textured the paper.

Sat down at my desk, I thought to myself. There was no other person around me, so I lazily crossed my legs over one another as I sat, depriving the air of formality. Instead, I let my thoughts fly through an air containing affection and anticipation. I had spent so long off in France, procuring political allies and practising diplomacy, that I had forgotten the intimacy of friendship.

While I had exploited the French attitudes and exhausted myself in other forms of intimacy, there was something abated about the idea of having romance. I needed someone whom I could agree with, someone who matched my prowess, and someone who would care to listen. Perhaps, even someone smarter than me.

.. like James.

I diverted attention from my delirium and insets focused on the absolute warmth of James and I's friendship. Not only was James quite attractive in his spotless face and boyish physique, but was also intelligent in the ways of the law, and he never did spare his feelings. He might have cushioned the blow of certain arguments, but James was honest to the core.

I lifted the letter in my hand again, reading over those final lines for the twelfth time. It did appear as if I were to the point of absolute lunacy, but I assure you that this is completely normal. Fixation on James' words was important, as he chose his vocabulary deliberately. His syntax was always on point. I admired his way of writing.

"At my arrival, do not digress. Be candid, sir. These past few years have been noxious, at best."

I read to myself, one hand on my face as I attempted to focus. To deconstruct. James requested that I were to be as honest as possible, acting as if something horribly jarring happened to him in the time that we were separated. If something of potence happened while I was in France, he would've written about it. Sent me an explanation.

Instead, I'm left with only speculations as to what could've happened in the years gone that he hasn't told me. Before my departure, James had gotten friendly with Mr. Alexander Hamilton, but he frequently mentioned the strain on their friendship to me. He seemed as loyal as ever to the cause of the republic and not to Alexander's monarchism.

On other personal affiliations, James hadn't many of his own. It's not as if Washington had buckled down on James, leading him to be so ominous. I began to feel worried, my hand dropping from my face as I set the letter down. It wouldn't be much time until I was face-to-face with him. Surely, I was dressed and my gifts were prepared, but I wasn't ready on the emotional scale.

Anxiety began to creep into my body, injecting itself through my skin and coursing itself through my blood. I licked my lips and grimaced to myself. Perhaps, James' negativity was caused by him? Or worse, another friend-- affectionate, close-- friend who hurt him. It's been five years, There was likely a chance James found someone else.

I got up, not knowing what else to do with my time than clean up. I leant over my desk and shuffled my papers into a stack, then laid them into a small crate made of wood, which helped keep their form. My hands then reached for my hair, which was tied back with a black bow. My outfit wasn't a particularly impressive one, but it was one that I hoped James would favour.

Black frock coat, furs draped on my neck, and dull green breeches that matched an accompanying waistcoat. Green was one of my least favourite colours, especially in such a saddening shade, but James quite liked the inquisitive colour. I pushed down pride to please him, for once. James never tried to impress me with his attire, but then again, he looked remarkable in almost anything. Clothes fitting so loosely on his thin frame. Soft, brown hair which fell down past his shoulders.. he was so pretty, too pretty for Congress, in my humble opinion.

I wandered around the confines of my room, not daring to step foot outside. I felt as if I were bottled up with foreign fears and wracked guilt, and if I were remove myself from this room, there was no telling how quickly I could crumble. It is best for me to wait patiently, hold myself together. It was later in the afternoon, James could arrive anytime. Even if the sky was dark, I severely doubt that he'd stop off at a tavern.

James would want to be in my home. he enjoyed his time here, didn't he? I cannot believe that I'm so deluded as to doubt his enjoyment of my company, but such thoughts became intrusive as I stared out my window. Out in the road, which was slowly becoming indivisible from the night's sky-- disappearing. I sucked in a breath, anxious movements causing a certain twitchiness.

And, just in one moment, I had heard a distant commotion.

The trotting of hooves and general noisiness of a carriage had beseeched my attention, coming into view as it made its stop in front of my home. Past the gardens, into the path, and stalling to let out a short guest. I stilled in utter shock, not able to move until the knocking at the front door echoed throughout my home. In a sporadic movement, I picked up the top letter from my pile and folded it between two fingers.

Coming down the stairs, I repeated to myself that it would be alright. That James' discontent was not found with your treatment, nor did he replace you. That was all folly and born from anxiety, Thomas! You are much better than that. With a certain pep in my step, I strolled off the top step of my stairs and subsequently fell down four steps. I was saved by a wall, which I slammed into.

"Ah! Ow, ow. Aah." I hissed at the sudden bruising. Luckily, I hadn't sprained an ankle or broken a bone, but I had slammed my shoulder into a wall at full force. James' letter was clenched in my hand, now, and my other hand was on my left shoulder. I bet I looked absolutely mad, possibly a hint pathetic.

Nevertheless, I continued to the front door, where I stood by. There was no point in making James knock again, that would be embarrassing on his end. He most likely heard the calamity that was my fall down the stairs, so there was absolutely no use in playing it off. Being genuine, I opened the door for my friend.

My best friend in the whole world. Attractive, young, thin, and--

"Uh." I squinted down at the short man before me, not recognizing his face in the slightest. This felt like some sort of joke or ploy on my disparities. I sucked in a ragged breath, genuine in my discomfort toward what I was looking at. His skin was dead, hair was horribly dishevelled and greying. Not to mention the obvious weight influx, which most likely sapped the man of his energy.

He stared up at me, blue-green eyes carrying hurt in them. I rubbed the letter between my index and middle finger idly, speechless. My speechlessness was met by a small crack of a familiar voice.

"You candour is appreciated, but you could at the least bid me a formal greeting, dear sir." He commented with snark, very informal for the situation. The sudden sound of his voice and attitude put forth cleared my confusion, and I suddenly felt a hot rush of blood in my face.

"James?" I asked, bringing a hand up to my face to cover the horror in my expression. Finally, I understood what his words meant. His "noxious" time without me wasn't because of me, but it was because he was left alone with himself. And when left to his own devices, James was not the best practitioner of self-care.

"Yes, Thomas. James. Might I come in, now? I'd rather not catch frostbite again." James sassily jabbed, and I quickly moved out of his way. James seemed to remember the layout of Monticello well, as he made a turn into the hall that contained the room he'd spent many nights in. I wonder, did he visit Monticello often when I wasn't around?

Probably not. If anyone were to be so invested with me, I would suspect James Monroe. Not Madison. I followed James into the guest bedroom, allowing him free reign to sort himself out. My eyes were kept askance from his face and fingers, which were covered in dead skin. Presumably from..

"Frostbite?" I peeped out, asking James to elaborate on what he meant outside. All those scars were from frostbite? James was never so outdoorsy that he'd catch frostbite. As soon as the weather was mildly unsuitable, James could be found leaving the premises. I sat on a chair near the bed, where James had sat himself.

James rubbed each of his fingers individually, the reason? I assume to maintain blood flow in them. He nodded stiffly at me, before he spared me some insight into one of the many, many misfortunes of his time without me.

"It's been like this for a year. Mr. Monroe and I were having a," James pursed his lips, "disagreement over Senate. Campaigned against one another. I eventually spent sixteen hours in a freezing carriage in the snow." James confessed, then crossing his arms over his midsection. His eyes were dull and tired, meeting my own.

To think my two closest friends had gotten into such a disagreement. One that led the other to indirectly scar the, apologies, favoured of the two. I felt my stomach turn in guilt. James noticed this and sighed, shaking his head.

"Don't be too upset over what is already done. You being in distress does not solve anything." James clicked his tongue, bringing one foot of his onto the bed. He unbuckled his shoes, signalling that he intended on staying the night here. There'd be no reason to dress down if he was merely visiting. Again, he spoke, as I quietly listened.

"You furs are impressive." I smiled, "And probably far too expensive. Shame, sir, shame." And then frowned. James laughed at my playful pouting, which caused me to chuckle. He knew how nervous I was, not wanting to talk and ruin things, or offend him. So he continued to talk me down, as he sat back in the bed, leant on an arm.

"At least you're not Mr. Henry. Twice governor, but he dresses as if he were on the frontier! You're not fooling anyone, old man." James jested at his former superior's expense, allowing the room to be light. I scooted forward in the swivel chair I'd been sat in, bending the letter in my hand subconsciously during the whole conversation.

James took note of the letter in hand, gesturing to it curiously. I handed it over to him, doing my best to keep a playful mood as he read over his own writing. He glanced up at me after he read it, expectant.

"I was candid, right, sir? Hopefully met your request with my utter shock." I used a light rhetoric, making James puff out a laugh. His change in appearance was not something I was prepared for, as I had only imagined him in the way I left him all those years ago.

"Even if I was shocked," I continued, hoping to clear something up for my friend,

"You are still my best friend. Epicure or lithe, scarred or spotless." I attempted to comfort James, who glanced up at me. A ghost of a blush dashed across his pink face, eyes shining with a revelation.

"Thank you, Thomas." The bitterness in his voice had melted away as he thanked me. Replaced with a warmth that would impossible to detect in his letters.

I felt like we had both found closure with the simple conversation. James had no contempt with me, and I was not disappointed in him.

“Thomas,”  
James hummed.  
“You’re my best friend.”

I rubbed a hand on my shoulder, which still ached.

He poked my exposed heart, which suddenly ached.

I quirked my lip upward.  
“Be candid, sir.”  
I repeated his line.

“If you say so.”  
James affirmed.  
“I love you.”


End file.
